The Dead and the Beautiful (12 page)

“We had enough evidence for an arrest.”

“That's not an answer, Detective.”

He glanced at her. “How do you keep getting involved in cases like this?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. They sort of find me.”

He narrowed his eyes, holding her gaze for a moment. “You really
don't
think Alison Sahira killed Ryan Melton.”

“Do you care what I think?”

“I shouldn't, but I have to admit, you've apparently got a knack for this.”

“Alison didn't kill him, Tom. I'm telling you, I know her and she doesn't have it in her. And with a dog leash? Come on. Use your Spidey sense.” She frowned. “Someone obviously set her up. Maybe your arrest was premature. Now, you don't have the evidence on the security footage that you thought you had.”

His mouth tightened, but he didn't lose his cool demeanor. “How did you find that out?”

“I'm not going to tell you.”

He held her gaze for a second. “Nikki, I know I said this before, but you really
do
have to stay out of this. You have to let us perform our investigation.”

“You've made an arrest. How much more investigation will there be?”

He was quiet for a minute. Maybe because he knew she was right, or at least a little right. “How'd you find out about the security cameras?” he asked.

“Can't reveal my sources.” She waited a beat. “What was on the laptop?”

This time he chuckled. “You want a job? I think we've got a detective position opening up.”

“Got a job.” She smiled and nodded to two of her mother's guests, a Spanish film director and his wife. “What's on the laptop?” When he didn't answer, she asked, “Does Alison know what's on it?”

“I don't know.” He sipped his drink, looking over the rim of the glass at her. “Does she?”

“She's not talking.”

“She say who hired Lyin' Lillie?”

Nikki did the eyebrow thing. “Lyin' Lillie?”

“Lillie Lambert.”

“Yeah, I know who you mean. I just thought that only cops on TV talked that way.”

“Nah.” He grinned. “I'm sorry to say, we really do talk that way.”

She studied him for a minute, taking in the expensive haircut, the designer suit. “What's your story, Tom? Because you don't add up.”

“I don't add up?” He gave her a Sundance Kid half smile. He was
definitely
flirting with her.

“You don't seem like a cop. You seem more like . . . someone who's used to cocktails on the one thousand block of Roxbury Drive.”

“Buy me a drink sometime. You tell me your story and I'll tell you mine.” He glanced away, then back at her. “Excuse me. I need to say hi to the governor.”

Nikki watched the detective walk away. She was still standing by the bar when Marshall made his entrance onto the terrace, a skinny blond model she recognized from the cover of
Cosmo
on his arm. The Amazonian waif was Swedish and barely twenty-one. He left her with a glass of champagne by a potted palm and came over to stand beside Nikki.

“New girlfriend?”

He groaned. “My publicist arranged the date. You know how paranoid he is, especially with the new film being released. We have to keep up my heterosexual reputation, you know.” He ordered a Scotch, neat, at the bar and then stood beside her and swirled the amber liquid around in the Baccarat crystal glass the bartender handed him. “But you might actually enjoy talking to her.”

She studied the young woman for a moment. She looked good on the
Cosmo
cover, but in person, she was emaciated. “You think we have a lot in common, she and I?”

He smiled, nodded, and took a sip of Scotch. “More than you'd guess.” He leaned and whispered in her ear.

Nikki looked at him, her eyes going wide; then she grabbed his arm, pulling him toward his date. “Introduce me.”

Chapter 12

“N
ice to meet you, Oda.” Nikki offered her hand. The model was at least six foot tall. Maybe six-one.

Oda had a surprisingly firm handshake.

“If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you ladies to chat.” Marshall put one arm around Nikki's waist and the other around his date's. He kissed Oda's cheek, then Nikki's, and walked away.

Oda's gaze followed him and Nikki felt a little sorry for her. Did the poor thing really think she had a chance with Mr. Sexiest Man Alive?

“Such a gentleman.” Oda spoke with only a slight Swedish accent. “It's a shame I prefer the ladies.”

Nikki met the model's gaze and found herself smiling. “Blind date?” she asked.

“My publicist set it up.” She pouted her gorgeous, full lips. “I hope Marshall won't be too disappointed.”

Nikki's smile turned to a grin. “He'll get over it.”

“So . . . Ryan Melton,” Oda said, sipping from her fluted champagne glass. “Marshall told me about your friend who was arrested for his murder.” A waiter, in a classic black tux, walked toward them, carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres. “Ooh, food!” she said. “I'm starved.” She accepted a white napkin from the waiter and chose not two, but three canapés. “These look amazing,” she exclaimed.

“Ma'am?” The waiter held out the silver tray.

Nikki wondered when she'd gone from being “miss” to a “ma'am.” Was there something magical that happened once you were over forty? Even if you were barely over the line? “Sure, why not?”

“Try one of the little crackers with the caviar,” Oda bubbled. “Excellent.”

Nikki took one of the beluga caviar hors d'oeuvres and a tiny crepe filled with avocado and goat cheese.

Oda grabbed another caviar cracker as the waiter walked away.

Nikki looked at Oda's stick-thin figure. “Don't tell me you actually eat?”

“And I don't purge.” She giggled. “I guess I just have a crazy metabolism. My mother is the same way.”

Nikki was trying to juggle her appetizers and her glass, and not doing a good job of it. “Shall we go over here?” she asked. She led Oda to a tall, small, round cocktail table, covered with a white linen tablecloth. Victoria had bought a half dozen of the tables years ago and constantly had Amondo dragging them out of the basement. They were perfect for standing at; this one, in particular, was perfect because it was a little out of the way of the other guests.

“So you and Ryan . . . were friends?” Nikki asked.

“Acquaintances. Not even. A friend's brother, Marcos, owns a club on Sunset Strip, Allegro. I ran into Ryan Melton there a couple of times.”

Nikki nibbled on the avocado goodie. “Pretty exclusive club.” It was one of those places where there were velvet ropes on the sidewalk and people waited in the hopes of being admitted. They rarely were.

“If you'd ever like to get in, let me know. I can leave your name at the door.”

“My boyfriend and I aren't really into clubbing, but thanks.” Nikki refocused. “Was Ryan with his wife?”

“No, I never met her.” She licked her fingertips like a woman who knew how to enjoy a good canapé. “It seemed like his being there was more business-related than social. He was, what's the American word?
Schmoozing
.”

“Business schmoozing?” Nikki knew from the Internet research she'd done on Ryan a couple of nights ago that he was presently unemployed. Neither modeling nor acting had worked out for him. “What kind of business?”

“He wanted to open a nightclub. A nice one. He was looking for investors willing to drop a million each. He was pressing Marcos pretty hard. Mr. Melton had already made a financial commitment. He was desperate, I think. He was trying to act casual about it, but he had a look in his eyes. It was a little sad.”

“You wouldn't think he'd need investors,” Nikki thought out loud. “Diara's got to be worth . . .” One of Victoria's rules to live by was never to discuss one's income or net worth. “A lot,” she finished lamely.

Oda leaned over the table, lowering her voice. “I got the feeling his wife wasn't backing him. That was the problem. Marcos said that Mr. Melton lost a large sum of his wife's money last year in a real-estate venture that failed. He said she cut him off. All he was getting was an allowance.”

Nikki was liking Oda more by the second. “Interesting.”

“I don't know much more than that, but if you'd like to come by the club, I could meet you and introduce you to Marcos. Maybe he could tell you more than I can.” Her smile was genuine. “We could have a drink.” She glanced up. “Who knows, you and your boyfriend”—she nodded over Nikki's shoulder—“might enjoy yourselves.”

Nikki turned, spotted Detective Dombrowski looking right at her, and turned back to Oda. “That's not my boyfriend.”

“No?” Oda smiled her gorgeous smile. “The way he's looking at you, maybe he should be.”

 

Friday afternoon, Nikki took off at three after making a sale on a Nantucket-style Cape Cod on the beach in Malibu. It was a gorgeous house, just renovated, with two ocean-side decks and an interior garden, stone countertops, and walnut floors. She figured a $9.5 million sale gave her the right to take off early on a Friday. But then she felt guilty and decided to hit the gym on the way home. Penance.

She was on her second mile on the treadmill when her phone rang. She glanced around; the gym was fairly empty this time of day. She hated it when people talked on exercise machines beside her, but after a mile, she was willing to use any excuse to slow to a walk. She dialed back the speed of the treadmill, surprised to see Adam Ace Security come up on the screen.

“Nikki Harper.”

“Miss Harper, hi, it's Tulip. I hope it's okay . . . Moon gave me your number.”

Nikki hit the STOP button on the treadmill and grabbed her towel. “Not a problem. Please, call me Nikki.”

“I just wanted to thank you . . . Nikki. The tickets arrived by courier.” She was obviously excited. “To see the Dalai Lama. You didn't have to do that.”

“I hope you and Moon will enjoy the talk.”

“I know we will. It was really nice of you.”

Nikki stepped off the treadmill. “I don't suppose you'd like a fish tank?”

“You serious?”

“Completely,” Nikki said.

Tulip laughed. “Nah, too much work. But thanks.”

“No, thank you. You've been a big help.”

“Just glad I could. You know, it's nice to help someone. Well, you have a good weekend.”

“You too.”

As Nikki walked to the locker room, she thought about what Tulip had said . . . about being happy to help. On a whim, she used directory assistance and made plans for dinner. After a shower, she was just finishing dressing when her phone rang: Victoria.

“Mother.” Nikki tucked her iPhone between her chin and her shoulder, and stepped into her seventies Hermes black skirt with equestrian detailing. “How was your day?”

“Short. I had to shoot only one scene. I'm going shopping. Come with me. I need a new pair of flats. The darned heel popped off one of my Ferragamos again. I'll have to send Amondo to have it repaired, but I can't wait on them.” She sighed. “Seems a waste, because then I'll have
two
pairs of good black flats.”

Nikki stepped into her black boot, chuckling to herself. She was pretty certain her mother was the only woman in America in her tax bracket having shoes repaired. “Sorry, I . . . I have plans. For an early dinner.”

“You and Jeremy patch things up?”

“Not really.” Nikki pulled the zipper on her boot.

“I'm sorry.” Victoria paused. “Well, heaven knows I can't give you advice in love. How many marriages did I have?”

Nikki grabbed her other boot. “Nine, if you count the second time you married Syd and Daddy.”

“That was a rhetorical question, Nicolette. I know that still makes you angry that I married your father twice.”

“The fact that you
divorced
him
twice
is what makes me angry, Mother. You were soul mates.”

“And now he's dead. And since you felt you needed to bring that up, I think you need to go shopping with me and make it up to me. Then I'll go to dinner with you.”

“I . . . I'm not sure where I'm going is your style, Mother.”

“Oh, heavens, it's just dinner. I can eat wherever. I'll meet you on Rodeo. Amondo can drop me off. I'll even ride in the toy car of yours. See you at five in front of Chanel, darling.”

Click
.

Victoria didn't say good-bye. She never did.

 

Victoria bought black flats at Gucci, they window-shopped at Harry Winston's, and Nikki picked up some
delicates
(as Victoria liked to call them) in La Perla. Nikki loved shopping at secondhand stores for her clothes. She loved a bargain, but she always splurged on undergarments.

At six, they were in Nikki's Prius, headed down through West Hollywood on Sunset.

“So what's the big mystery? Where are we going for dinner? Not that Cuban place again, I hope. It was ridiculously expensive.”

“Cuban place?” Nikki frowned.

“Where you and Jeremy took me for my last birthday. It was near here.”

Nikki laughed and changed lanes. “Asia de Cuba? Mother, it wasn't a
Cuban
restaurant, it was Asian fusion. You were the one who said you wanted to try something different.”

Victoria sat in the passenger's seat, her hands wrapped firmly around her black and brown circa 1970 Fendi bag. “I just hope we won't be late getting home.”

“You're not shooting tomorrow.” Nikki glanced at her. “You don't have to be up early.”

“
It Happened One Night
is on TV tonight at nine. Clark at his best. Everyone made a fuss when he didn't win the Oscar
for Gone With the Wind,
but Bobby Donat deserved it.”

Nikki eased the brake down as she stopped at the corner of King's Road and Sunset. She didn't bother to remind her mother she could record the movie and watch it anytime she wanted . . . sans commercials. Victoria was perfectly capable of using the DVR on her TV, but for whatever reason preferred not to.

“I promise you'll be home in plenty of time to see Clark.”

Minutes later, Nikki pulled into a parking lot.

Victoria craned her neck. “A diner in a caboose? How quaint.”

“It's Carney's, Mother.” She pulled into a parking spot.

“Well, I can read that on the sign.” She looked at Nikki. “And who did you say we were meeting?”

“We're not
meeting
anyone.” Nikki got out of the car and waited for her mother. “There's someone I'm hoping I can speak with. She's supposed to be working tonight,” she explained as she and Victoria walked across the parking lot.

“A Santa Fe caboose. On Sunset Boulevard,” Victoria remarked as she climbed the stairs in front of Nikki, still clutching her Fendi. “Now I've seen everything.”

“I can't believe you never noticed it before—it's a yellow caboose. There's another on Ventura.”

“It's not as if I spend a great deal of time on the Sunset Strip, Nicolette.”

Inside, a single row of tables and chairs ran along the left wall. Ahead, the counter was on the right. “Would you like to sit and I can order you something?” Nikki said.

Victoria looked around. “Won't the waitress take my order?”

“No waitresses, Mother. You order at the counter.”

“Well, then I'll order at the counter.”

Nikki couldn't help smiling as Oscar-nominated Victoria Bordeaux hustled herself to the diner counter, her Fendi hanging off her arm. She looked as out of place as a pair of Jimmy Choos on a teamster.

Victoria leaned on the counter where a guy in a Carney's T-shirt and blue apron was lining up boxes of French fries and hot dogs. “Is there a menu?”

Nikki took her mother's arm and backed her up a step, pointing to the menu on the wall.

“Oh, my. There's so much to choose from,” Victoria exclaimed, obviously enjoying the adventure. “What do you think? A burger or a frankfurter? Amondo will be disappointed he missed out.”

“I . . . I don't know.” Nikki scanned the employees behind the counter.

“Chicken parmesan,” Victoria read out loud. “That doesn't sound like any fun. Who eats chicken parmesan in a railcar caboose on the Sunset Strip? What in heaven's name is a burger dog?”

“It's, um . . . a hamburger with a hot dog on top,” Nikki answered, spotting blond dreadlocks under a red ball cap at the grill.

“Fascinating! I don't know how I'm going to decide,” Victoria went on. “A Polish sausage with sauerkraut and mustard. Sounds divine.”

A young Hispanic man leaned over the counter. “Can I help you?”

“Um . . . still deciding,” Nikki said. “Is . . . Jessie available?”

“Jessie!” the young man hollered.

The young woman turned from the grill, spatula in hand. “How can I—” She froze. “Just shoot me. Just shoot me.” She ran to the counter. “Miss Harper. I know I invited you, but I didn't think you'd really come.”

“Hey, Jessie. How are you? I brought my mom for dinner. I was wondering . . . if you had time to talk to me for a minute?”

Jessie leaned over the counter and stared at Victoria, who was still trying to make up her mind what she wanted to order. “Just shoot me,” Jessie breathed. “Monica is going to be so upset that she called in sick.” She looked back at Nikki. “I . . . let me see if I can take my break.” She stepped away from the counter, then back. “Did Jose get your order? Let me buy your dinner. I get a discount.”